Sunday, September 17, 2017

K.r.m. Mooney at SFMOMA


I have screws in my skeleton, in my wrist. Subcutaneous cords run inside a vein and into my heart, twisted into pulsing ventricle walls. Two circles of gold lain over my flesh. A warm box accumulating metal glits. When a body is cremated and the ash swept up remain the metal trinkets, hips, bolts, shrapnel, medical devices, occasionally kept, sometimes recycled, or collected in bins and sold for scrap. Attaching titanium to skeleton, or adhesive to pvc to iron, there is an abjection in disparate material being attached, touching, screwed together. Imagine screwing a titanium knee to David, imagine screws entering his white marble repairing him, the cords of a pacemaker set just beneath flesh and the skin moving over eventually eroding through and erupt bloodlessly inside now outside. The jeweler's dilemma is how to connect gold and stone, the doctor's bone and foreign object. The material problem of attachmenting. Things aren't made to go together but we force them too. When the battery is low, the packemaker whistles from inside its warm box.

see too: K.r.m. Mooney at Pied-á-terreSam Anderson at Rowhouse Project